


A Tale of Two Queens: An Elder Scrolls Story

by TwinMoonSkald



Series: Tale of Two Queens [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Aldmeri Dominion, Anequina, Anthropomorphic, Companions, Death, Dragons, Elves, Fantasy, Feline, High Fantasy, Khajiit - Freeform, Magic, Magic-Users, Murder, Necromancy, Political Alliances, Royalty, Swords & Sorcery, War, imperial - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-05-20 22:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinMoonSkald/pseuds/TwinMoonSkald
Summary: A story following the stories of Queen Ayrenn, leader of the Aldmeri Dominion, and Queen Khamira, ruler of Northern Elsweyr, exploring their first meeting and diving into formative moments of their pasts and relationships with friends and foes alike as their worlds collide and the two monarchs struggle to reconcile the needs of their people and their oftentimes different ambitions and dreams. Will they stand together to rise up to the challenges to their thrones, or will the Aldmeri Dominion begin to fracture as the ambitious and unifying dreams of Ayrenn clash against Khamira's desire to preserve her people and homeland?





	1. The Crown Weighs Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to my first attempt at writing a fan fiction! After 7 years of running roleplays and creating involved stories and deep character interactions, I've decided that this is one medium I haven't dabbled in yet and I wish to one day write a novel that will go into print, but writing this story will be my first step in figuring out a style and format on my own and help me hone my skills of creating a traditional and hopefully compelling arc to one day write a novel with a beginning, middle, and end that will be as enjoyable to read as it was to write. 
> 
> To that end, I have been a huge fan of the Elder Scrolls franchise for years now, going back to when Oblivion was released and immersing myself in the wonderful and oftentimes weird world of Tamriel, leading to my time in ESO and finding the characters of Queen Ayrenn and Queen Khamira to be particularly captivating personalities with rich histories that have yet to be properly explored.
> 
> It is my genuine wish that this story will be a treat for fans of those characters, and I hope I can stay as true to who they are as I develop a tale from their point of view. 
> 
> Thank you for taking time for reading this story, and feedback and thoughts are always welcome!

**Prologue: A Friend**  
_Ayrenn_  
_10th Rain’s Hand, 2E575_  
_Sleeping Sload Tavern, Wayrest, High Rock_

* * *

 

    The city of Wayrest was a beautiful and in places worn port where people from across Tamriel could be found in its streets, and particularly its port-side taverns and inns fulfilling some trading mission or another with the Breton kingdom. The climate was somewhat dismal; a grassy lowland with few forests to break up the howling winds that oftentimes screamed across Stormhaven, oftentimes accompanied by torrential downpour. It was a place that survived entirely due to its location, for it acted as the gateway to the interior of High Rock and the heartlands of Tamriel, and a short voyage across the channel brought you to the lucrative kingdoms of Hammerfell. Coin flowed as easily as the drink, and the general debauchery one could find in any of the less-than-reputable establishments of Wayrest would have made much of the upper crust of Summerset appalled and outright livid at the collapse of morale social fiber.

    It was here that a young Altmer woman, at a mere 20 years old, sat by a hearth with a taste of home in a wooden tankard instead of a fine glass as she witnessed the characters around her with rapt interest. Ayrenn sipped from her tankard, enjoying the Alinor white wine despite the unpleasantly worn texture of wood that had touched dozens of lips before hers and was hopefully cleaned properly between patrons. She was 12 years into her journey of Tamriel, one that came to be when she disappeared when she was only 8 years old and desperate for an escape from the stuffy rituals and excessive grooming for her eventual claim to the throne.

    Her family were Altmer; centuries of healthy living and boundless experience were all but assured, especially for ones pampered into nobility where you were seen as the betters of the common folk, even among Summerset gentry. Even from a young age, Ayrenn knew it was a system that felt rather unjust to her, and seeing how Summerset was barred from almost all outsiders created a sense of supremacy among her people, one that gave many Altmer a sense of elitism that justified poor treatment of what were seen as lesser elves or the poor beast races. While slavery was widely received as a barbaric practice that the Dunmer of Morrowind had seemingly made a cornerstone of their racial identity, Altmer were all too happy to more or less designate Bosmer and Khajiit into effectively serfdom and menial labour that would never be enough to support themselves, let alone a family who would depend on the incomes. Despite their supposed moral authority over the Dunmer, the Altmer would always find ways to justify their so-called moral high ground.

    However, for all the faults of Ayrenn’s people and the system that desperately needed to be overturned into something more befitting of the wisdom of those who were closest to the Aldmer; her years of travel had taught her that much of Tamriel fared much worse. Much, much worse.

    Argonians and Khajiit routinely disappeared into the cages of Dunmeri great houses to be battered and exchanged like cattle, Bretons and Redguard routinely ransacked the Orsimer’s attempt at founding a homeland due to ignorant fear and prejudice, Imperials frequently imposed restrictions and taxation on people who never asked to be subjugated by Tiber Septim and refused to lift a finger when their subjects called for help, Nords had a vitriolic hatred of elves that entitled their love of the false-god Talos and so-called “heroes” like Ysgramor, who took the sacking of one of their ancestors’ cities as justification of exterminating an entire race of elves in vengeance. The Falmer of Skyrim no longer existed, and the Dwemer disappeared likely due to some desperate scheme to rid the world of the Nord blight that hounded them, and the Chimer were cursed out of existence by Azura and turned into the Dunmer.

    At least the Chimer made out better than the Orsimer; Ayrenn recalled a particularly unsavory passage of a theological tome she had studied in her travels that had claimed that the Malacath was literally born from the dung of Boethiah after she consumed Trinimac and excreted him into one of the most loathed of Daedric Princes among the other Daedric Lords. A Pariah Prince for a Pariah people, who were allegedly once Aldmer who were transformed into Malacath’s image. It was certainly a colourful tale, and despite their apparent brutality and tribal nature, Ayrenn found the Orsimer rather interesting people. Although uncouth and seldom harbouring good manners, Orsimer were loyal to a fault and utterly fearless. They were all talented warriors, and they could boast claim to some of the finest builders and smiths across Tamriel, and the ones Ayrenn had encountered in her travels, she found many had dreams and aspiration for a life that didn’t involve the need to pick up a sword and fight for their right to that life.

    Orsinium had burned as many times as it had been constructed, almost always due to foreign armies invading due to fear of Orcs becoming powerful enough to form their own kingdom, but yet the Orcs persevered. Ayrenn’s eyes had occasionally found their way to a lone Orsimer sitting on his own in the corner of _The Sleepy Sload_ , carving an Echalette from a hunk of driftwood with the same attention to detail and concentration she had seen in the most talented of Altmer jewellers. It felt every time she chanced a peak at his work, the Orc had transformed more of the wooden sculpture into a work of art.

    Ayrenn had been mulling over joining the Orc at the table to learn his personal tale when suddenly a figure sat down on the bench next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, cup in his hand. _A Khajiit,_ she realized, the brazenness stifling her indignation for a moment and her mind forming a loud retort of protest like a building thundercloud when the Khajiit spoke quietly and swiftly, as if passing a conspiratorial bit of wisdom that she needed to hear.

    “Raz apologizes for his rude intrusion, my golden-hued friend; please act natural so this one might save his handsome hide from the Daedra in our midst.” He spoke quickly, his Anequinan accent refined from travel and experience.

    “What do you think you are doing? Daedra? Of all the asinine excuses…” Ayrenn fumed, turning her head to look over at the Khajiit, who wore a hooded travel cloak that covered much of his face, just his brown-white muzzle protruded from the end.

    “Patience, my friend. Raz normally puts much more effort into his dazzling handsomeness and approaches promising individuals such as yourself with far more decorum, but you will have answers soon enough. And some coin and a pretty new dress for your troubles, yes?”

    The boldness of the Khajiit was rather striking, if perplexing. “What are you, a common thief?”

    A chuckle escaped the feline’s throat as he turned his visage to face Ayrenn for the first time, a dazzling pair of mischievous and intelligent green eyes glowing in the hearth light back at the Altmer. “There is nothing common about Raz, but nothing special, either. But he assures you, nothing about him is morally ambiguous… if one were to see him from a certain perspective.” The Khajiit replied, his eyes darting suddenly to the door. “Ah, and here is the source of all of this one’s headaches… act like we are infatuated and the rest of this tavern is beneath our notice, yes?” he urged.

    For whatever reason, Ayrenn didn’t immediately out the Khajiit to the woman who walked in the door, a prim and proper Breton woman in a floral-patterned blue dress and an authoritarian posture and deportment that scanned the tavern like a hawk seeking a field mouse. Ayrenn turned her attention to Raz, forcing herself to smile and giggle like an idiot as she reached out to touch his arm as if he were the most charming man in the world. There was a story to be had here, much like the one the Orsimer carving the driftwood had to say. This one had the potential to be truly something interesting. One thing Ayrenn had learned the past twelve years was that a life-long experience and an adventure worth remembering often happened by chance.

    “So, Raz, why don’t you tell me a bit about the schoolmarm there and why it is so important she doesn’t find you?” Ayrenn asked.

    The Khajiit grinned beneath his hood. “Oh, Raz was offered a good amount of coin to break into her estate and look into her husband’s illicit dealings, a very corrupt captain of the guard. This one may have stumbled into this schoolmarm while providing his services as a very concerned citizen, and she may have threatened to call the guards, but Raz is nothing if not charming. A long tale short, Raz was almost caught in the bedchamber of this schoolmarm and had to flee with her newly purchased purple crushed velvet dress she had recently purchased to cover this one’s delicates.” He took the tankard from Ayrenn’s hands, drinking from the cup as the woman passed closed to conceal his features.

    “She is relentless, Raz will give her that.” the Khajiit mused.

    Ayrenn fought to keep her composure from the tale. She snatched her tankard back and drank herself, not caring the Khajiit had soiled it. “And so you cower behind me after destroying a marriage and stealing from that poor woman?” she asked, more amused than indignant. “So why still carry it?”

    “Oh, it is simple, my friend; if you are so inclined, Raz has a proposition for you.” He paused, chuckling softly as he shook his head. “Apologies; perhaps a poor choice of words, given recent context. He has a job if you are interested, one where you will have a new dress that looks to be your size and you will have a played a part in keeping Wayrest safe from dangerous contraband that the guard captain seems intent to profit from. Raz has you pegged for a worldly sort, the kind of likes to take action. Why else would a young High Elf be found in a place like this on her own so far from home?”

    “Who says I am on my own?” Ayrenn countered half-heartedly. Raz simply stared back, bemused.

    “Fine, perhaps you have a keen eye, Raz. Let’s say I’m interested in this scheme of yours; I am going to need details, and perhaps a bit of reassurance up front that you are the right kind of dastardly.” Ayrenn pouted playfully.

    The schoolmarm had done her rounds, and had begun to make her way out of the door. The Orsimer absentmindedly blew the dust from his figure and blasted the Breton with wood shavings. She indignantly raised her protest, and an argument begun to break out between them. Raz stood quietly, taking another drink from Ayrenn’s tankard before handing it back and shoving the bag he had with him towards her. “It’s yours now. Meet me tomorrow morning around dawn at the docks by a three-mast Redguard ship with a pair of scorpions as its figurehead if you are interested in Raz’s job. If you do not show, it was a pleasure for Raz to share such fine company tonight, and he hopes you enjoy your new dress and the pittance of coin he has offered to pay your tab.” He paused, taking Ayrenn’s hand gently to kiss it. “But allow this rather dashing Khajiit to say he would prefer your company tomorrow. He would very much like to see if he was right about you.”

    With that, as the argument was reaching a crescendo between the Orsimer and the schoolmarm, Raz slipped past the barkeep who was valiantly intercepting the two from coming to blows, and he disappeared out of the door the Breton had come in only moments before. Ayrenn shook her head at the entire exchange, picking up the bag and being surprised at the weight. Curious, she reached inside and pulled out a coin purse, drawstring barely tied over the shimmer of gold.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Crown Weighs Heavy  
_Khamira_  
_14th Last Seed, 2E583_  
_Rimmen Palace, Rimmen, Anequina_

* * *

 

    The red painted oak door closed under the power of an aid’s attentive hands, latches clicking gently through hallowed channels in the hardwood. The black-furred figure let out a long sigh of mixed parts weariness and relief, pulling the heavily embroidered hood down from her crown, letting it slump around her shoulders. Her coronation robes, her station of office. They were as uncomfortable now as they had been only three months prior when she had reclaimed her family throne from the usurper queen Euraxia, ending seven years of unjust occupation and avenging the death of her parents, the king and queen of Anequina.

    Queen Khamira – a title she was still finding as uncomfortable to wear as the regalia she was adorned in – crossed the room, her clawed fingers picking at the clasps and pins holding her mane in a tidy and perfumed lattice of ornate braiding that had taken one of her handmaids something approaching thirty minutes to prepare. With her deft fingers that had not long ago been picking locks had most of the locks of hair undone in moments, her mane sitting more easily at the nape of her neck than it had been atop her crown and buried beneath a jeweled emerald hood.

    Khamira let her fingers run through her loose mane with a furrowed brow and a frown; when had it gotten so long? For years, she had kept her mane short and tidy to offer some semblance of relief in the blistering desert heat that her black fur seldom fully shed on account of her coat being as dark as the night sky. She remembered then what her father, King Hemakar, had told her when she was a young girl playing hide and seek in the palace halls; _Your eyes shine like the twin moons dancing across the night sky, ma’khajiit._

    A sudden sensation of grief struck the queen like a wave; the khajiiti monarch grabbed the edge of her grooming desk as her eyes clamped shut for a few lingering moments. Breathing slowly, she centered herself by focusing on the sensations around her. She felt the hardwood beneath her pads, immaculately polished to a mirrored finish that rivaled that of the actual mirror affixed to the desk. She sensed the light of the fading evening sun shining through the double windows between a crack in heavy curtains. There was the sensation of the sandals embracing her otherwise bare feet, offering a barrier between her pads and the cool masonry below. Her nose caught the scent of a perfume bottle that had slipped from her fingers after a bath that had shattered across the floor. A small aloe plant in the window sill had a lingering scent that calmed her. Five things, she reminded herself. Five things that she needed to identify to center herself.

    Her dry eyes opened, and once again, Zamarak-do’s meditative teachings had come through once more. A queen was not permitted to let her emotions show, much less one of Anequina’s bloodline. Even though she was groomed from birth to fill this station, and her heart knew that it was her duty and destiny to reclaim Anequina’s throne from the damned usurper Euraxia Tharn, the realities of ruling had been oftentimes daunting, and always isolating.

    She was no longer acting as Gharesh-ri’s aide, his spymaster, his agent as he groomed her for the day she would rise up and fight to avenge her mother and father and reclaim her birthright. Even though it had been her dream and her greatest wish, now she had it, she found there was much of her old life she missed. She had seen much of Tamriel, and she permitted herself a smile as she recalled foiling Abnur Tharn’s attempts to identify her as she tailed him from the shadows across much of Tamriel as she tried to ascertain his intentions of locating the so-called Demon Weapon, and she took a perhaps unprofessional joy in his annoyance as the great patriarch of the damnable Tharn dynasty was thwarted by a simple amulet Khamira’s parents had given her, a special thing that made her invisible to magical detection.

    Tharn’s blunder had released dragons across Elsweyr, the horrid beasts still roaming her homeland and the kingdom of Pellitine to the South and she had held such fury at the Imperial’s arrogance and the horrors he unintentionally unleashed on Khamira’s people, but the old Nibenese Imperial who remained spry and sharp-clawed into his one-hundred and sixtieth years had taken it upon himself to correct his mistake and even go so far as to assist in disposing of his sister… _half-sister,_ Khamira corrected herself with a knowing smile. He had proven to be a remarkably ally, albeit a sometimes difficult personality to work with, but his council was sound and his talents remarkable. Tharn had enlisted as much help as his influence and authority could muster to defy Euraxia and the Dragons, the Betrayer and the Necromancers, and he had personally fought at her side at Riverhold, where Khamira revealed herself to her loyalists as the rightful queen of Anequina, and again at the Moongate and Jode’s Core, risking his life on even the slightest chance of victory against Kaalgrontiid, the leader of the dragons.

    Against all odds, and with Five-Claw’s, the champion that Tharn referred to as the Vestige who proved instrumental in liberating Anequina, prowess in battle, they had survived and trapped Kaalgrontiid in the demi-plane of Jode. Tharn had disappeared as Khamira was crowned queen, Gharesh-ri returned to Elden Root to report on the events that had led to Northern Elsweyr’s return to Khajiiti control, Five-claw had returned to their many callings and the war to the North, leaving only Prefect Calo and Zamarak-do as Khamira’s only advisors and confidants remaining in Anequina, of which Calo was currently off with his Cygnus Irregulars hunting down the remaining pockets of necromancers and Euraxians that hounded Elsweyr as a blight. Only Zamarak-do remained, the Wind Desert adept named Claw of the Queen and he acted as her personal bodyguard and occasional sparring partner. Ever humble, he was seldom ever reliable for council, assuring her that she was wiser than him in the art of ruling. A part of Khamira felt that becoming Queen meant isolation and sacrificing her personal wants and desires.

    And companionship.

    Khamira desperately wished for a drink at that moment, but there was too much to consider risking impairment. A missive had arrived via courier three weeks prior that Queen Ayrenn was en route with an entourage to meet the new Queen of Anequina, presumably to request aid in the Three Banners war. There were a lot of preparations to make, such as finding accommodations for the Aldmeri Dominion’s ruler’s advisors and aids, suitable sites and amenities for the soldiers that were doubtless escorting her. There was the issue of provisioning for so many extra mouths when dragons had destroyed much of the year’s crops, and what food remained often was prepared and stored with moon sugar as per Khajiiti custom; it was not suitable for consumption by non-Khajiit. How could Khamira send her own soldiers North to fight for Cyrodiil, or to the borders of Hammerfell and Black Marsh, when her homeland was being ravaged by a war that the Dominion had spared no manpower or resources to alleviate?

    The queen reached the partially drawn window and drew back crimson curtains, the golden embroidered crescent moons shining brilliantly in the folding of fabrics as she looked down upon the courtyard below. The lamplighters were out, bringing warm hues to oil lamps and caldrons that still made the lush gardens that she remembered so fondly in her youth so vibrant even as the sun dipped below the horizon… towards Summerset. Khamira sighed, shaking her head. It all came back to the High Elves, didn’t it? Ayrenn’s war was rooted in elven superiority, in reclaiming Tamriel for elven rule due to her beliefs that the races of men were too young and reckless to govern responsibly. Altmer believed themselves to be the purest of the descendants of the Aldmer, and many of the golden-hued elves looked upon their allies in Valenwood as degenerate backwater creatures and the Khajiit further to the East as little more than beasts who had somehow learned how to speak.

    It was nothing short of a miracle that Ayrenn, the Silvenar, and the new Mane were on such trusting and respectful terms, helped in large part by Ayrenn’s reported worldliness and genuine compassion for the plights of her allies, taking a personal stake in the crises that maligned the members of the Aldmeri Dominion at its founding. It was a curious thing that Ayrenn’s actions seemed to be at odds with her apparent elven supremacist mandate that the Aldmeri Dominion had been forged under.

    From all accounts, she was a woman of great intellect, emotional maturity, and no extremist leanings. Those who followed her adored her and were loyal to a fault, including one of her so-called Eyes of the Queen who happened to be a Khajiit who was rumoured to have been her companion for years before her return to Alinor. Perhaps there was a chance that there would be more to this visit than a demand of more Khajiiti blood to Ayrenn’s personal war that Khamira had no choice but to support in order to preserve an alliance that was keeping the likes of the Ebonheart Pact or the Daggerfall Covenant from imposing foreign rule over Anequina.

    At least the High Elves seemed more or less content to let Khajiit govern themselves and respected, or at least tolerated, their cultural differences when the human-run Empire had done much to stifle Khajiiti sovereignty and exploited Elsweyr’s people. Euraxia had done much to sour Khamira’s taste towards Imperials, almost going so far as to emotionally manipulate Khamira from trusting Prefect Calo’s intentions from beyond Euraxia’s cursed grave, but the Prefect had been nothing short of an honourable man who took strides to honour Khamira and her subjects and make amends for the Imperial occupation they had endured. His Irregulars had fought side by side for months now with the Elsweyr Defense Force and the two forces worked well alongside one another; Calo seemed genuinely to have Elsweyr’s interests at heart and to earn back Khajiiti trust in Imperials. By that metric, it remained to be seen if they would be seen as the exception or the rule, but Khamira had to admit that the transition to her rule was made much smoother with the Irregulars’ assistance.

    A knock on her chamber door prompted a weary grunt from Khamira as she pulled her hood over her hair again, and hurrying to the vanity mirror over her desk, she straightened out her mane from protruding from under the fabric and within a few short moments was back to looking more or less regal and presentable again. Not for the first time that day, she missed her cloak and leathers.

    “My queen? A message for you.” The voice called through. An aide, Fasima, was becoming the voice Khamira heard when news from across the realm came her way. Khamira knew that Fasima would not have disturbed her so late in the evening if it wasn’t something that was pressing, and these days most things were, so she headed to the door to unlock it and permit her aide access.

    “Enter.” She said, pausing to wait until the young and bright-eyed Suthay entered, looking much more comfortable in gowns than the queen was. “What do you bring, Fasima?” she asked.

    The aid held a letter. “This just arrived from one of the Cygnus riders, your Majesty,” Fasima said, offering it to Khamira, who breached the wax seal with a claw. “Queen Ayrenn’s party has just crossed over the Southern border from Valenwood. The rider claimed she will arrive in Rimmen in four days’ time.”

    Four days, was it? That wasn’t much time to prepare to receive the host. Khamira hoped the Queen of the Aldmeri Dominion preferred to travel inconspicuously rather than with hundreds of retainers and palanquins. “Thank you, Fasima. Please let my Claws know that I am retiring for the night and that you should take the rest of the evening off.” Khamira said with a smile, reaching out to place a hand on Fasima’s arm. “From what I understand, you’ve caught the eye of a young bookkeeper that wishes to take you to the theater?”

    Fasima smiled, flustered, her normally fearless eye contact breaking for a moment under a bashful sentiment. “Oh, yes, but please, my duties are to you first and foremost, Queen Khamira…” she trailed off.

    “And you fulfill them with a capacity that none can match. But you have a life that isn’t just about tending to me and the throne; I decree that you must take time to make yourself happy.” The Queen said reassuringly.

    Fasima’s eye contact returned, her smile not restrained. “Well, Fasima supposes if the Queen wills it she will go into town to see her bookkeeper. Perhaps this one can find something in the markets her Queen would like?”

    “I will not say no to some sugared dates.” Khamira said with a chuckle. “Please, go enjoy your night. This palace is much too small for someone of your heart.”  
  
   Fasima bowed, a hand over her heart. “By your leave, Queen Khamira.” She said, and she headed out of the entrance, leaving the Queen to her own devices once more. She studied the parchment, not taking her eyes off as she locked the door. Four days and the world would come crashing upon Rimmen’s gates, beseeching the young Queen to send promising young Khajiit like Fasima to fight in foreign lands for a war that seemed so foolish in retrospect.

    Khamira shook her head, pulling down her hood and heading behind a divider to remove herself of the cumbersome regalia of her station. As she removed the fabrics and set them onto hangers, she regarded her increasingly exposed body with some mild discontentment. Her muscles had subdued somewhat and despite her attempts at maintaining a diet and vigorous training and exercise, she found her form transitioning from a warrior and agent of the Mane into something resembling pampered nobility who never had to lift a sword to defend her people. Her still somewhat braided mane spoke to that and with a disgruntled hiss, she pulled the remaining pins out of her mane and let it all fall down about her shoulders, her hair reaching to her neck in silky black strands.

    She looked to her hands, rubbing her thumbs across her pads and feeling the hardness to them, built up from years of lifting a sword and drawing a bow. Damn it all, she thought. Tomorrow she would pick up a bow for the first time in months, and maybe go for a ride to visit Hakoshae to see to her non-Khajiiti subjects and see what preparation the Akaviiri descendants of the village were making in anticipation of the Dominion’s arrival.

    Four days and Queen Khamira would meet Queen Ayrenn.


	2. The Eagle Descends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between posts! Life’s been hectic and this is something of a back burner project for me, so thank you for your patience and enjoy!
> 
> The Rid-Thar-ri'Datta is the name of an ancient Khajiit prophet who revealed the Riddle’thar (the cosmic deity of moon’s cycles) to the Khajiiti people and as such is an important figure in Khajiit mythos. The lunar lattice determines what form a Khajiit will grow into; as they appear in this story, I will be sure to explain each breed, or furstock, of Khajiit that appears for the uninitiated.
> 
> Jode and Jone are the Khajiit names of Massar and Secunda, the two moons. They are seen to be aspects of the lunar lattice, and as such, are revered as gods. Moon sugar is believed to be the crystalized essence of moonlight, and consuming it in every dish has not only greatly made the Khajiit immune to all but the most high of doses of moon sugar, but it also is regarded as ingesting the essence of a principle god, a gift to the Khajiiti people. 
> 
> For consistency’s sake and keeping in line with previously established lore, I will be keeping to the original definitions of Khajiiti furstock descriptions; if one is brought up in the story, I will define them here.
> 
> Cathay: The bipedial, flat-footed Khajiit you play as in Oblivion, Skyrim, and Elder Scrolls Online.  
> Cathay-raht: identical in appearance as a Cathay, save for the much larger size. ESO describes these Khajiit as Pahmar-raht.
> 
> Suthay: Suthay are like Cathay, but they walk digitigrade (on their toes), like the ones seen in Morrowind. They tend to be a bit smaller in stature, but Suthay-raht are close to the same size as Cathay.

_Khamira_  
_18th Last Seed, 2E583_  
_Rimmen, Anequina_

 

                The preparations went as smoothly as one could have anticipated for such an occasion, and the vibrant city of Rimmen seemed to embrace the festivities with an enthusiasm Khamira had not seen in a long, long time. While normally a colourful city with citizens to match, banners and tapestries had bloomed across the streets like a garden of lush flowers and vines reaching the highest points of the city, motifs and patterns often adorned around crescents and circular shapes; Khajiiti artisans often adopted the shape of the moons into their designs, either out of reverence to Jode and Jone, or Rid-Thar-ri'Datta.  The rippling of fabric in the brisk, but pleasant, breeze that dominated the afternoon simply added to the sense that Rimmen was alive, a living breathing beast with a great mane of every colour under Margus’ light.

 

                Workers, patrons, and festival organizers were busy in the market place near the gate leading up to the palace steps, visible from the landing just down from the palace doors where Khamira. She was adorned in the emerald regalia of her station; the asymmetrical cuts and layers of green on white fabrics concealing her legs beneath an ankle-length dress and a leather belt with gold crescents affixed into the material leading to a fan-shaped buckle shaped like Rimmen’s crest, a diamond shape that was a legacy of the Imperial occupation with the three crescent emblem that was common in Khajiiti nobility, representing the two moons and the “hidden” third moon that appeared when the moons were in alignment, the phase that each Mane was born under.

                Above a bare midriff was much looser fabrics hanging loose about her navel, elbow-length sleeves, and a hood adorned with golden jewelry, inlaid precious gemstones and affixed with chains. Leather bracers and a collar sat upon her shoulders and in a circular shape sat at her chest and between her shoulder blades. It was a striking ensemble with very unorthodox sensibilities to the world of Men and Mer, where elaborate and oftentimes exaggerated dresses with corsets and plunging necklines to emphasize femininity and opulence, the Khajiit enjoyed flowing fabrics, often with a more practical slant; her exposed abdomen was a decidedly feminine cut, but it allowed her flexibility one wouldn’t have in a typical dress, and upon her feet were simple sandals, leaving her bare feet exposed to the Rimmen heat. Much like how a Khajiiti soldier often shunned heavy armour due to the restrictive weight and lack of flexibility, the nobility of Anequina found a sensible way to merge opulence with practicality.

                Overall, Khamira shone brilliantly in her regalia looking down upon the city… her city, regarding the populace with affection and worry.  For seven years they had lived under the yolk over a despot, and only now seemed to be growing comfortable with their newfound freedom. Khamira tried to be as hands-off as she could be for their day to day affairs, stepping in only to enforce laws, looking into matters of the defense of Elsweyr, and civil projects like maintenance for the aqueduct that brought clean water to much of the arid region; Khamira counted it a small blessing that the dragons had not deemed destroying such a pivotal structure a priority, either through ignorance or the more unsettling thought that perhaps they simply congregated where they knew where there would be people… servants or food in their eyes. Every one of those damned things that perished at the hands of the Elsweyr Defense Force or the brave adventurers who had answered Abnur Tharn’s summons and calls to arms did much to save Khamira’s beloved home.

                The Dominion that was coming to Rimmen had claimed it could not spare any weapons, manpower, or resources to combat this dragon threat. As if King Jorunn or King Emeric posed a greater existential threat than the dragons; Khamira had served as agent of the Mane for long enough to know her share of political bickering and how ideologies caused thousands to bleed for the egos of their regents. She would not be that kind of leader, she _could_ not. The Queen of Anequina wished for nothing more than to tell Queen  Ayrenn that she would not spare any of Elsweyr’s children for a High Elf war, how dare she demand such a thing when no Altmer or Bosmer lifted a finger to save Elsweyr, to save Tamriel, from the dragons.

                Khamira was suddenly aware of a sharp pain in her palms; she had her fists clenched so tightly her claws were digging into her palms. It would not do to show such strong emotions to this Dominion Queen. Khamira was no traitor; she would work with Ayrenn and perhaps find a compromise that suited both side’s needs. For the people of Elsweyr, she would find a path for a prosperous future, a free Anequina. Besides, being a queen meant she now had considerable power and influence; Ayrenn would do well to keep in Khamira’s good graces. After all, if everything fell apart, the Dominion would be dealing with a rebellious province on their Eastern border and the risk of dragons migrating into Valenwood was all too real. Surely the Dominion queen realized this; Elsweyr’s stability and Khamira’s cooperation was paramount to the alliance’s survival. It was a thought that made the Cathay queen feel more reassured about the meeting to come.

 

                She was regarding an argument between a Senche-raht and a Cathay-raht below with mild interest and amusement; the four-legged furstock had rounded a corner too quickly and bumped into the biped carrying a comically large crate of produce that was now spilled across the street when a runner appeared at her side, saluting with a fist over his heart, his breathing heavy. “Your majesty; the Dominion procession has arrived.” He reported simply.

 

                Khamira nodded solemnly. It was time to reconcile fact with rumour. “Thank you, Jasir-do. Please inform Captain Kuzah-do to greet our guests.”

 

                That runner saluted. “At once, my Queen.” He said, turning and hurrying down the steps towards the Southern city gate. Khamira’s eyes found their way to the now-empty towers that lined the city; only four months ago trebuchets had been aimed into the city by Euraxia to keep rebellious sentiment quelled and to prevent the loyalist factions from making an attempt to retake Rimmen. How delicately had the city laid in the balance; Euraxia could not venture into the rest of the province where the Elsweyr Defense Force had stripped her of her power over the years, so they dug in like ticks in the city and pretended to have absolute rule. Things would be different now,  Khamira hoped. She looked to the South and saw the golden eagle banner appear with a procession of perhaps one-hundred soldiers and retainers and sighed, turning back to return to the throne room.

 

                Khamira hoped that she was not replacing one usurper with another.

* * *

 

_Ayrenn_

                Elsweyr was a different kind of heat than one could have expected in Summerset, an idyllic paradise with an invitingly warm coastal climate that felt like an inviting summer year-round, hence the name. Cherry blossoms thrived across the mountainous region, offering shade from the gentle sun that shone upon coral shores; Summerset was certainly one of the most beautiful lands on Nirn, but there was something to Elsweyr that really spoke of an ancient majesty and wonder for the young Altmer. Although many of the elves in her company were openly griping about the insufferable desert heat, Ayrenn was well-travelled, and seeing the Khajiit among her in high spirits and talking excitedly in Ta’agra about the things they were excited to check up on and experience back in their homeland made her smile. She would be sure to give leave to her soldiers while in the care of Queen Khamira.

 

                The new Queen of Anequina was a mystery to Ayrenn; unlike in Altmeri society where nobility kept such retentive accounts of lineage and relations it was almost a quagmire of formalities and titles that anything approaching formal interaction was treated with the same depth and complexity as a taxing political negotiation. The Khajiit, on the other hand, seemed to have a much looser but no less revered sense of obligation towards royalty and nobility; Khamira had gone from being an obscure albeit respected Agent of the Mane under Gharesh-ri’s watch to Queen of Anequina in a matter of weeks. The Khajiiti Queen was largely an unknown quantity to Ayrenn; she was obviously well-educated, experienced and skilled, as well as beloved by her people, but Ayrenn had gone from being well-connected and informed about all of the Dominion leaders to suddenly having a giant blind spot that could very well be a destabilizing influence on the Aldmeri Dominion and the involvement of one of the two Kingdoms of Elsweyr.

 

                Ayrenn chided herself mentally with a smile. That was unfair to think, wasn’t it? It had only been a few years since she’d become Queen of the Summerset Isles herself and she knew of the burden the crown carried, and she knew that Queen Khamira was likely extremely apprehensive about her arrival in Rimmen to meet her fellow monarch. This meeting was about more than solidifying a political alliance; it was about forging a genuine friendship with the new Queen and showing her that Queen Ayrenn and the Aldmeri Dominion genuinely cared for her people’s safety and prosperity.

 

                The Altmer Queen looked at the approaching gates of Rimmen with determination. She was not going to rule with fear or manipulation; she was not like King Emeric who had been at war with his Orcish allies not long before their Covenant was formed, or King Jorunn who had somehow united his people whose ancestors slaughtered elves with the Dunmer, who [I]still[/I] practiced slavery of Argonians in some instances, who had come to their table as allies despite thousands of years of animosity between them all. The Altmer and Bosmer were close cousins, and despite the disgusting elitism of some aspects of Altmer society, the two races had always enjoyed close relationships. The Khajiit were a somewhat different story, and not long ago had they spilled blood with the Bosmer, but the two very different races had since found peace on their own terms and a sense of mutual respect and understanding.

                It was what the Aldmeri Dominion was founded upon, after all; it was an alliance based out of respect and understanding that the people of the Dominion were stronger together, that despite how different they all were, they were proof that diversity only enriched them all and gave them the ability and experience in governing vastly different people with vastly different cultures and faiths. It felt to Ayrenn that the other alliances were doomed to failure because they were forced out of necessity rather than a shared will; it was why the Dominion would prevail and reclaim the heartland and reestablish elven rule on Tamriel, a rule done with the maturity and wisdom that only elves and Khajiit possessed, where compassion and tolerance were the order of the day. The destructive whims of men could not last, and the mistakes of the Alyeids would not be repeated.

                As Ayrenn passed into Rimmen, she was surrounded my excited Khajiiti and Imperial faces side by side, people who both called Rimmen home and were now her people. They were proof that her Dominion was the right thing, where all had a place in its borders. She smiled and waved at a young girl clutching a doll that looked like the new Queen, the festive spirit of the city already invigorating her spirits after a long journey across the desert. She would make this work, for everyone.

 

                They both would.

 

                At last, the procession arrived at the Rimmen palace gates, and Ayrenn approached with just Battlereeve Urcelmo, one of her most trusted advisors and protectors, and four of her guards, a brother and sister pair of Khajiit named Nashiir, a hulking Cathay-raht who made his warhammer look like a child’s toy and Kunzuni, who was a Suthay-raht who was an artisan with a glaive, and two Bosmer, a man named Drathor who was one of the finest archers she had ever laid eyes on, and a curiously horned woman named Evelin who had a proficiency with magic that rivaled even accomplished Altmer. They had all been picked for their talents to represent the best the Dominion had to put forward, and Ayrenn quite liked how between the six of them, they were an even mix of the three principle races of the Aldmeri Dominion that demonstrated their unity and skills, as well as their cultural affinities; both the siblings had come from the Redfur Trading Post in Grahtwood, North of the Elden Root, the pair having lived with and exposed to Bosmeri culture since birth. Drathor hailed from Arenthia in Reaper’s March, a formerly Valenwood held region that now was largely occupied by Khajiit, Northwest of the great Khajiiti city of Dune. Evelin was from the city of Haven, but she had been living in the Summerset city of Sunhold for the past year to study magic. All were committed to the ideals of the Dominion, and all didn’t suffer from dangerous prejudice that could endanger the fragile initial stages with Queen Khamira.

                Rimmen was certainly a lively city, with scents of sweet cooked meats and vegetables wafting through the air, musicians entertaining crowds, and the marketplace bustling with activity as many of the vendors who lived in the city discounted their wares to compete with the outsiders who came in anticipation of Queen Ayrenn’s arrival. It struck Ayrenn as particularly informal and much more representative of life in places outside of Summerset, where most of the people were quite concerned about their public appearance that they always tried to be on their best behaviour and flaunt their status; it was a constant struggle for upward mobility and influence, especially in the cities, but here people just seemed contented with their own personal needs to enjoying themselves. No one seemed to mind acting the fool for others, haggling loudly with a merchant or laughing obnoxiously at an entertainer’s antics, and others picked sticky food out of their fingers without much of a care of who was looking.

                It felt refreshingly genuine and Ayrenn recalled her first experiences in the Valenwood where after adjusting to the local customs, the Bosmer seemed to be a fairly informal and lively people that practiced a lot of self-reliance and personal responsibility, but their social structure and lineage was a fair bit more blurred or downplayed. They revered their political and spiritual leaders and followed their Green Pact as if it were a matter of life and death to the point of zealously enforcing it upon outsiders, and some of their customs had a decidedly fatal bend to them if dishonoured, but the average life for the Bosmer actually seemed to have an appeal that was certainly less rigid than Altmer society. Friends and family and loose social groups dominated their society, and even King Camoran seemed not at all what one would expect from a regent of the people. He was informal, humourous, and quite approachable, as if the crown simply got in the way of him leading his people. The Khajiit of Rimmen reminded Ayrenn of that, and she felt more affirmation that sharing culture between the Khajiit, Bosmer, and Altmer would strengthen all of them and help them all change and grow together in a positive direction.

 

                They would need each other if they were to survive the other alliances.

 

                An escort arrived to help coral the horses and lead the procession up the palace steps, where the masonry felt timeworn and ancient. Upon reaching the highest landing before the great doors, two lines of soldiers stood on either side in battle-worn armour; they weren’t covered in the ornate armour of honour guard, but rather it was a demonstration that these were veterans of the war against Euraxia and the Dragons. Although one column was composed of Khajiit in orange and tan armour, the other row was comprised of a blue-grey row of Imperials. This was unexpected; Ayrenn knew that Imperials had occupied Rimmen and an amount of that populace remained after Khamira reclaimed her city, she had not expected Imperial soldiers to be serving her, in clearly Imperial armour. A sinking, suspicious feeling came to Ayrenn suddenly; had Khamira declared her allegiance to Empress Regent Clivia Tharn, one of the architects of the collapse of the Empire that has prostrated itself before Molag Bal for a misguided attempt at power?

 

                The Altmer Queen collected herself quietly, feeling somewhat foolish to giving into the delusions of paranoia. Perhaps it was a mark of a wise ruler to expect the worst intentions of others, but she was dedicated to not be that kind of ruler; her alliances were built on trust and mutual cooperation. If she gave into a cruel authoritarian nature, she would be no better than the Tharns or the leaders of the other alliances. Queen Khamira’s people had suffered under Imperial occupation for 7 years, and her own parents had been murdered by the usurper’s hand; someone like Khamira would never willingly give herself over to such butchers. These Imperial soldiers surely had a story; Ayrenn was very much interested in hearing it.

 

                A pair of Cathay-raht stood abreast of the red doors and opened them at the procession's approach, leading into a foyer where a pair of statues stood between two twin staircases, a pair of Cathay in striking regalia. At the base of the statue in golden plaque were their names; King Hemakar and Queen Numara. They were Khamira’s mother and father. Rather than immediately allow herself to be whisked up the stairwell to the right, Queen Ayreen paused in front of the statues, studying their faces, wondering how true to life they were. The stone had not been carved recently, and four months seemed quite a short time to commission something so extravagant when Anequina was fatigued and worn down from war. From what Ayrenn knew of Khamira, she was not one to delight in opulence and excess; she had lived among commoners and been a warrior before she ever wore a crown. Ayrenn felt that perhaps they both were kindred spirits, being able to relate to histories that weren’t those of nobles who had never left their palace walls, but as worldly women who had experienced what the world truly was like.

 

                She bowed her head and placed her hands together in quick prayer before the two statues, knowing full well some would describe her deference to the departed monarchs as a cynical play to garner sympathy and to appear empathetic to the watching crowd, but the truth of the matter was she knew too well what it was like to lose her parents before she was ready. She was 29 years old, and that was a young age for even Man to lose their parents, let alone a Mer who would live centuries.  It was another thing Khamira and she had in common.

                After a few solemn moments, Ayrenn allowed herself to be escorted to the throne room. It opened up around her, where many of the nobles and common folk stood shoulder to shoulder on the sides, in and around monolithic pillars of ancient rock, adorned with the ornate and beautiful fabrics that Elsweyr was renown for. Dividing the populace from the carpeted isle were soldiers mirroring what Ayrenn had seen outside, Khajiit on one side, Imperials on the other. Overlooking it all was a statue of an old Mane that had been in these halls for centuries.

                Ahead, upon a dais surrounded by leafy ferns and overlooked by a large Suthay bishop stood Queen Khamira, her emerald regalia reflecting brilliantly with the cauldron light that illuminated the dais. She did not sit upon the throne, but rather stood well before it, straight and proud with her hands behind her back. Black fur made her distinctive, and a pair of dark blue eyes radiated out from under a hood. Her countenance was impassive, but her gaze was unmistakably suspicious. Doubtless Khamira had her own questions and misgivings about the Queen of the Aldmeri Dominion, but the Queen of Anequina was clearly not one to make an honoured guest feel unwelcome.

                A herald proclaimed, “Hail Queen Ayrenn, Daughter of King Hidellith, Queen of The Summerset Isles and the Aldmeri Dominion!”

                The crowd cheered enthusiastically at her name; the reception was warm, much to Ayrenn’s relief. Khamira, however, still stood unmoving as Ayrenn approached. When the crowd quieted down, she called out, “Queen Ayrenn, Rimmen welcomes you.”

                The two monarchs met eyes, green and gold meeting blue and black.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
